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Little Blue Notebook
“I knew anesthesia bad idea” is scribbled, barely legible, on the first page of a little blue notebook. Mom intended this notebook for grocery lists and reminders. She never imagined it would be a communication device for her daughter when she woke up on a ventilator after a routine surgery. As one of the most difficult times in my life I can look at it as a time of perseverance.
Knowing my abdominal pain wasn’t something to ignore I decided to go to the hospital. In the ER they discovered my gallbladder as the culprit. Easy fix, remove it. Next thing I knew I was having it taken out. Although I had reservations I figured it was routine so not a big deal. Because of my feeding tube doing it laparoscopically was out. Supposedly the open cholecystectomy means a longer recovery and a nice scar. Unfortunately for me it also meant aspirating while under general anesthesia, a nicked bile duct and waking up on a ventilator.
Waking up I had that “oh crap” realization when my breathing wasn’t to my own rhythm. With tubes down my throat I couldn’t speak. Fortunately I was able to grip a pen to scribble a few words on to paper. Most notes had to do with positioning. Genuinely I had my doubts I’d ever be comfortable again.
Removing the breathing tube on the first attempt failed miserably. After a few breaths on my own, suddenly I couldn’t get air into my lungs. My eyes got big as I made eye contact with the nurse and mouthed the words, “I can’t breathe.” My panic reflected in her as she quickly activated the Code Blue alarm. Nurses, doctors and the anesthesiologist rushed in attempting to re-intubate me. My limited jaw extension was problematic. Regardless they managed although I don’t recall how as I they knocked me out for the process.
Waking up a second time to a foreign breathing rhythm I felt defeated. Comforted with my sister holding my left hand and Mom on my right I was grateful for waking up despite feeling weak. Initially my sister was working. While the code was being called Mom frantically phoned her. Thankfully she rushed in so Mom didn’t have to be alone.
Once again the little blue notebook became my communication, although I needed support to hold my wrist to write.
“Don’t you want to cry?” Mom asked.
My response, “Want to cry makes snot.” Squiggly but clear on a middle page of the notebook.
Crying on the inside I knew actual tears produce mucus and that’s the last thing my body needs. At this point the doctors came to the realization I should be at a hospital more capable of dealing with my medical complexities. Recovery was an extensive process.Why Mom saved the notebook I’m not quite sure. Looking back I can say I went through a great deal and came out the other side. I may be physically weak, but I have a great deal of strength. Have you been through life threatening ordeals? What got you through it?
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